


Good Intentions

by timeheist



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't the outcome that I wanted or expected<br/>I don't' recognize this place but I love the warm reception<br/>- Good Intentions, Finger Eleven</p><p>Serial Killer AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twelve/Clara Serial Killer AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/62505) by randomthunk. 



They had started, like many criminals do, with the best of intentions.

After all, it was all good and well, the Doctor finding Gallifrey and bringing back the Time Lords, but what use would it be if he brought them back only to have them fall right back into a war with the Daleks? No. He couldn't let Gallifrey fall all over again, his hearts couldn't take it a second time, and if that meant genocide then, well, he'd done it before. And would probably do it again. Since he was already damned, he might as well do something for himself once in a while. And like all terrible things, it had been almost laughably easy.

What he hadn't counted on, however, was his new regeneration's over-sensitivity to adrenaline rushes. Perhaps it was the older face, and the young and pretty companion who still showed an interest in him. Or the renewed sense of being alive that came from a whole new batch of potential lives. Perhaps it was who this new Doctor was. A no-nonsense, do-what-I-like, greater-good adrenaline-junkie with access to an impressive arsenal of tools. But as he'd pressed the buttons that had rid the world of Daleks once and for all, with no one to hold him accountable for the crime, he'd felt... Excited, not relieved. Giddy. And before he realised, he'd done it again. Killed again.

It had started out as your run of the mill adventure. He and Clara had stopped on what had promised to be a peaceful retreat planet – they were never peaceful retreat planets – for a few weeks of rest and recuperation. By the end of the first day there'd been an attack, an attempted takeover, and an alien invasion, not necessarily in that order and well, it had been self defence, hadn't it? He could have called the Shadow Proclamation and let them deal with it but it had been so much quicker to pull out the sonic and blow them up. And when he'd done the same a week later, perhaps over-reacting but saving a planet from destruction all the same?

He'd thought Clara would disapprove. Sweet, innocent Clara whose eyes could glare holes in diamonds. But on the first pleasure planet she'd pinned him to the wall of the TARDIS after their exhilarating run from the authorities and kissed him senseless. He was ever going to get the lipstick stains out of his collar. And the second time, they hadn't even made it back to the TARDIS. She'd grabbed him there and then, with that pretty red dress of hers falling off one shoulder. He should have fixed it for her and pushed her away, but her hand had... strayed to places he hadn't expected and it had been hard to do anything but respond in kind, right in front of the astonished crowd. And when she'd pulled him back to the TARDIS by the lapels of his shirt, both their hands soaked in blood...

And so it had begun, so it continued and now, Clara was by his side every time (and in his bed afterwards). He didn't know what to think except that the rush was glorious, and the sex was even better, and there was nobody who could stop them. They were serial killers who could make their own alibis by travelling back in time and being somewhere else, and what's more, he was a Time Lord. With the fact that Gallifrey had returned becoming common knowledge across the universe people were either cowering in fear or clamouring for the next news story.

The Doctor was the mastermind of each crime and as time went on, Clara got her hands the dirtiest. Sometimes she even went further than he had planned, a mad sort of glint in her eyes as they slaughtered anything that got in their way in the name of justice. Evil dictators, war-mongering invaders, corrupt politicians, anyone with a streak of bad in them was a threat that had to be abolished. Sometimes the innocent got in the way – collateral damage – or they had to silence a journalist or a law enforcer – covering their backs.

Clara was morose on those days, stricken by a conscience that rarely showed any more and it was then that the Doctor would pin her to the bed, cleaning the blood from her skin and covering every inch of her in touches, kisses, and admiration. His impossible killer, his beautiful Clara, red suited her so well and she was his, he was hers, and they were doing something good, something vicious, something that was the greatest high of all his lives. And when the world caught up to them then they wouldn't go down without one last, glorious fight.


End file.
